Halting Point
My Friend,
As I sit down to write this letter to you, I find it necessary to point out the gravity of this moment.
Up until now, you’ve played the age-old Darwinistic game:
“This life is about survival of the fittest.”
“Crying is a sign of weakness.”
“Therapy is for sissies.”
“No one can hurt me.”
Even if you haven’t said these things out loud, I know you’ve thought them. While life has stomped you into the ground time and time again, you’ve always found a way to make it look like you’re okay. You’ve stood back up after every beating, and carried on with the facade of who you’re supposed to be. You’ve fooled everyone. But not anymore.
I want to be very clear with you: I see right through you. I know exactly how weak you are. I see your scars, bruises, and blood-spattered bones. I see the shell of the person you’ve become. Though on the outside you may look polished and poised, the inside of you is desolate. I see that, and I know that because I used to be that.
Think of this moment—of this letter from an anonymous new friend who you’re hesitant to trust—as a halting point.
So, halt.
Close your eyes for a moment, and imagine what it would be for everything to stop.
Imagine a pistol of judgement being pressed against your temple, with the judge’s finger hot on the trigger.
Let your life flash before your eyes.
Let your entire archive of memory flood in at once.
Feel and experience the tingling of your extremities while you find out what it means for the world to stop turning in an instant. For you to stop breathing.
Pretend that this second—this breath—is the last one you’ll ever know.
When you do that, what do you feel?
Do you feel scared?
Were the days you endured worth the fight?
Did you touch anyone’s heart but your own?
Will someone miss you?
Did your life lead the purpose it was meant to?
Are you terrified that God isn’t real?
Are you petrified because you know He is?
Are you longing for the “something greater” where your hope for eternity is meant to be found?
Whatever your answers to these questions are, bask in them. Feel their weight. Reflect on the burden they create. Let your conscious mind understand and fear the disappointment of a life lived without purpose or freedom.
You’ve probably never had a friend talk to you like this before. That’s okay. But I’m not crazy. I just love you in a way that this world can’t understand. Pretty soon you’ll understand, though. For now, think about these things, and let them start to drive you mad.
Sincerely,
